


Anchor

by wonderluck



Category: Alien Quadrilogy (Movies)
Genre: Banter, F/F, First Time, Minor Violence, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29474241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderluck/pseuds/wonderluck
Summary: They talk about the future and never the past.
Relationships: Annalee Call/Ellen Ripley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 14
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ijemanja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijemanja/gifts).



Ripley and Call share a tiny bedroom in a rooming house in a mid-sized town that was once part of Russia. It’s what they can afford while they lay low. Over meals they share thoughts, devise plans, talk about the future and never the past.

A few weeks in, Call lands a job at a local shop repairing engines on ships passing through. Ripley sweeps the shop floors, tidies the store room, and keeps the tools clean and accounted for.

“We might be here a while,” Call says when they return home after another shift. She looks in the mirror and scrubs a threadbare cloth over the grease mark on her cheek. “You could earn more credits doing something else if you want.”

They are saving up to buy a ship, any little box with an engine because Call can fix anything. When necessary, Ripley will be their captain. On paper, neither of them are good candidates: a savior complex, a touch of sociopathy, issues with anger and trust and abandonment. Ripley doesn’t like it, but Call doesn’t want it, and so it is.

“Such as?” Ripley asks.

Call thinks hard. She’s not able to come up with anything that would fit Ripley, not really. “I don’t imagine you’d want to bartend?”

“With my outstanding people skills?”

“Right,” Call says. She can see Ripley in the mirror and it looks like she might laugh. “Thought so.”

Ripley sits on their bed and takes off her boots. Their room is shabby but clean. Call fills the space with any plants she can barter for because Ripley likes them. Call enjoys them for the challenge. It’s taken quite an effort to gather a collection and reconstitute them from near death, but Call likes making Ripley happy.

“I like what I’m doing,” Ripley says. “No one bothers me, and I can stick close to you.” She tosses a boot into the corner near her side of the bed, which, admittedly, is messier than Call’s. “There are probably a half-dozen groups hunting you and I won’t be off tending bar somewhere while you get hauled off to the scrap heap.”

It’s only been five years since the recall, and there’s no such thing as too paranoid.

“You’re right,” Call says. “We’ll have enough eventually.”

/

The first time it snows, they’re scavenging in a long-abandoned school. Call doesn’t sleep, only power cycles when it’s required, and she needs something to occupy her during long nights. She’s carrying an armful of textbooks she dug out from under piles of sand and debris. The spines of the books are loose, half the pages missing, and the edges have been worn away for at least a century.

Ripley dusts off a chessboard and adds it to her stack, then pockets the pieces. Call looks at her curiously.

“It won’t be a fair game,” Call says. To lose, she would have to play blindfolded.

“What, you don’t like winning?”

Of course she likes winning. “You’re a pretty sore loser.”

“So?” Ripley asks.

Call throws one hand up. “Fine. I’ll beat your ass at chess like I beat your ass at cards and you can just be pissed all day.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ripley says with a smirk.

Call rolls her eyes. Sometimes Ripley annoys the shit out of her.

Movement at the window draws her attention. “Look,” Call says as she rushes over to the closest window, long broken.

Large gray-white flakes fall to the ground beyond the window frame. Call turns to Ripley who is still across the room, head tilted to one side, watching. “Come on,” Call says, and she makes her way to the exit.

“Wait,” Ripley says, voice urgent as she catches Call by the arm before she can descend what’s left of the stairs.

They’ve been warned the rain is toxic, but have not tested their reactions. Could be fine, could be corrosive. All they have seen so far are sand storms and occasional lightning. Ripley likes the lightning. Call assumes it’s because she enjoys chaos.

“Okay. We’ll wait,” Call says. It’s not worth the risk, but she stills feels a twinge of disappointment that they can’t walk home in the storm. At least they can watch.

She finds a spot on the steps where the roof is still intact and sits down. Ripley stands beside her and Call reaches up and takes Ripley’s hand to pull her down too. Ripley sits beside her, shoulder warm against Call’s, while they watch the snow dust the landscape.

Call isn’t disappointed anymore.

/

Ripley goes by Lambert in public, and Call isn’t sure Ripley remembers who Lambert was and it’s an homage or if the name just pings around in her brain. Call doesn’t need to change her name because she already has. When they’re away from others, Call is allowed to use Ripley’s name. Call pretends to be indifferent to it. She pretends she doesn’t whisper it when she’s alone with her eyes shut tight and her imagination running loose. They have layers of secrets all the way down to bedrock, but Ripley’s name is a secret Call enjoys.

In their bed, Call tries not to watch Ripley sleep, tries to allow Ripley the unexamined moments she was denied in her current iteration, but she finds herself turning to watch Ripley’s unburdened expression, moonlight making the planes of her face even sharper. When the guilt creeps in, Call forces herself to turn away before she smooths a thumb along Ripley’s brow or traces her lips with her fingers.

Ripley hasn’t tried to kiss her, but Call is hopeful. It’s her nature. Ripley has never made her feel less than, but perhaps her artifice is what holds Ripley back. She wishes things were different.

Another long, uneventful night is ahead of her. Call pulls out one of the textbooks from her stockpile. Last night, she read about oceans. Tonight it’s butterflies and birds of prey.

/

Their boss, Soler, invites them to a bar after work. Ripley is wary of people, and Call is wary of Ripley _with_ people, and if it wouldn’t be seen as a slight, Call would have declined for them both. With the population at a fraction of what it once was, fraternizing with coworkers is expected. Ally building. Safety in numbers. Call will smile and pretend to drink, Ripley will quietly brood, and if all goes smoothly, they’ll get home without issue.

Call ensures Ripley gets the seat beside her at their table. To her credit, Ripley is attending with little complaint though Call can practically hear Ripley’s teeth grinding beside her.

Pax, a young mechanic, takes the open seat next to Call. He greets her, and Call swears she feels a thermal shift in the air coming from Ripley’s side. She will be glad when this is over.

“So where’d you learn to be an engineer?” he asks.

“Feels like I was born an engineer,” Call says and turns briefly to see Ripley smirk. “You?”

“Soler taught me everything,” he says.

A loud group near the bar erupts in celebration. Call hears Ripley’s nails dig into the arm of her chair.

“I’m getting a drink,” Pax says. “Want one?”

“Sure,” Call says. Time to look normal.

“One for you?” Pax asks Ripley.

“No,” Ripley says. It’s glacial. Call is surprised Pax doesn’t flinch. Instead, he nods, oblivious, and heads to the bar.

Across the table, Soler and two others are discussing hydrogen exchange rates.

“Ripley,” Call starts, keeping her voice low. “You could-”

“I don’t like him,” Ripley says flatly.

Call huffs out an irritated breath. “I’m not surprised. You don’t like anyone.”

“I tolerate you fine.”

“I thought I was a pain in your ass,” Call says.

Ripley grins. “You are a pain in my ass.”

Call laughs and feels warm under Ripley’s gaze.

“So, what’s your deal?” Pax asks Ripley as he returns to the table. It’s not abrasive.

“My deal?” Ripley repeats.

“Yeah,” he says. “You don’t tell us much, like you been to prison or something.”

“Something like that,” Ripley says.

Call makes a nervous, dismissive noise as she quickly interjects. “We really hated our last jobs.” She shoots Ripley a look that is a blend of alarm and _what the fuck_.

Ripley offers nothing else.

Pax turns to Call, and she can tell she’s going to have to shrug him off, but it should be easy. Pax opens his mouth to speak, but Soler cuts him off.

“Pax,” Soler says, words a little slow like the booze has started to hit. “Stop trying to chat them up. You’re not their type.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pax says.

“They’re _together_ , you idiot,” Soler says.

“Oh. Sorry,” Pax says.

Call nods. It feels like Soler’s words reverberate in her ears, and she catches Ripley’s eye. Ripley shrugs and leans back in her chair.

“So, Call,” Soler says. “What do you think of the new freighters?”

Call perks up, grateful for the transition.

“I think I’ll get that drink,” Ripley says and gets up from the table.

Call discusses the freighter cores. A couple minutes in, her audio processors pick up Ripley’s voice over the noise in the bar. Ripley sounds displeased.

“Excuse me,” Call says and stands.

Call hears the source of Ripley’s aggravation and he’s obviously drunk.

“You must be really dense,” Ripley says to the man as Call pushes through the crowd. “Why don’t you just fuck off?”

Ah, yes. That’s her Ripley, ever tactful.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” the man says. Ugh. Ripley is not going to like that. The guy will be lucky if Ripley doesn’t break his arm. Hell, Call might do it herself if he keeps it up. Call jogs over and gets between them.

“Call-” Ripley starts, a warning, but it’s useless because Call doesn’t listen.

“She told you to fuck off already,” Call says, firm and final, and she would be in his face if she were taller.

He laughs and his hand lands on her shoulder like he’s about to shove her. Call’s anger grows exponentially. Her steel-toe boot lands squarely on his knee, and he yelps and staggers. And sure, it might be an outsized reaction on her part, but everything moves very quickly and he’s not backing down, and at some point Call jumps on his back.

“Jesus Christ, Call!” Ripley says and tugs at Call, hooking an arm around her middle and prying her off.

Ripley hustles her out of the bar with their coworkers looking on, amused admiration on their faces, and stuffs her in their vehicle.

“I had it under control,” Call says. Ripley’s not going to buy it, but Call doesn’t care.

“ _You had it under control?_ Really?” Ripley asks. “We’re hiding out and you’re starting bar fights.”

“So I should just stand by?” Call says, still fuming. “I’m not useless, you know.”

“Is that your idea of helping?” Ripley looks like her normally low supply of patience is about to run out.

Call knows she isn’t going to win this one. “Look, I just...” She softens. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

Call slumps back in her seat and watches the parched landscape rush by. She probably should apologize. She doesn’t.

/

Things are tense the next morning, like _two warring planets in stalled peace talks_ kind of tense.

“I’m going out,” Ripley says after they share a silent breakfast. She is getting dressed while Call tends to their newest plant. It’s not much more than a dry tangle of roots that has choked on dust for years, but Call can make it live again. Probably.

“Okay,” Call says and does her best to sound normal.

Ripley grabs her jacket off a hook on the wall, and Call wants to ask why she is leaving—they don’t have to be at work for hours—but doesn’t. She is not sure how all of this is going to shake out.

After an hour, Call starts to pace the room. Logically she knows that Ripley will return. Ripley doesn’t have anywhere else to go, has no other allies. But maybe Call is just convenient. Maybe Ripley plans to move on. These things don’t feel based in reality, but they stick with her all the same.

When Ripley walks through the door, Call gets to her feet and meets her there.

“You came back,” Call says like she’s confused.

Ripley furrows her brow. “Why wouldn’t I come back?” she asks. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Call can’t die, but this might kill her anyway. She searches Ripley’s eyes a moment. Before she can reach for Ripley, Ripley moves in and gently places her palms on either side of Call’s neck, her thumbs stroking beneath the curve of her jaw. Ripley leans in and kisses her. The kiss is tentative at first, Ripley’s lips soft against hers, but Call is like a dam about to burst.

Call’s hands curl around the lapels of Ripley’s jacket, tugging her closer, and her mouth is urgent, seeking, her kiss desperate enough to make their teeth click together, but Call doesn’t care, just tries to do better, stay on target. Ripley’s moan is full-bodied.

Soon, it’s not close enough. Call pushes the jacket off Ripley’s shoulders and Ripley tosses it to the floor.

Ripley bends down enough to take hold of Call’s legs and lifts her off the ground. Call laughs as she hooks her ankles behind Ripley’s back, hands clasped behind her neck, and kisses her again. Ripley steps forward, then stops.

“Can’t see,” she mumbles against Call’s lips.

Call pulls her face away and buries it against Ripley’s neck, teeth scraping lightly, following with her lips.

Ripley gasps. “Don’t make me drop you.”

Call sucks at her skin and pulls at the ties of Ripley’s shirt with one hand. “Then hurry.”

Ripley sits on the edge of their bed. Call is in her lap with her tongue in Ripley’s mouth and her hands in Ripley’s shirt and her skin is soft and so responsive. Call delights in Ripley’s shiver. She wonders if Ripley can draw this response from her too, if it’s possible at all. Ripley groans but pulls her mouth away, panting. She leans her forehead against Call’s. “It’s not too fast?” Ripley asks.

Call rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding?” She reaches between them and unfastens Ripley’s pants. Ripley looks surprised, but pleasantly so. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” Call slips her hand past Ripley’s waistband. Ripley’s inhale is sharp and she presses her lips together to contain a soft cry. Call smiles at her. “I’ll just tell you: the whole time.”

Call guides Ripley backward on the bed, and Ripley is gorgeously flushed beneath her. Call feels warm from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. She teases Ripley, and Ripley pulls at her hips, fingers clutching at the worn fabric of her coveralls.

“We’ve slept in the same bed for months and it’s been torture,” Call says and presses her fingers inside Ripley. The result is utterly satisfying. Ripley holds her gaze, brows drawing together, a tinge of desperation on her features. Call could stay like this forever. “When I ran my power cycles, I dreamt about you.” Secrets spill out of her like she’s in Confession. Maybe it’s too much.

Call feels Ripley’s hips jerk up once like a reflex, and a needy, broken noise falls from her lips. Ripley swallows hard before she speaks. “You could’ve told me,” she says.

“And have you feel sorry for me and my pathetic crush? No way.” She is pretty certain she loves Ripley, if that’s what it is, but she’ll keep that to herself for now. Even if it’s hardcoded, that doesn’t mean it feels any less real.

“Does that really sound like something I would do?” Ripley asks, panting. “You are so unreasonable sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of my thing.”

Call’s thigh moves solidly between Ripley’s, pressing her hand against Ripley faster. Ripley exhales a shuddering breath. She takes Call’s face in both hands and firmly pulls her down to kiss her again, Call increasing the pace as Ripley arches, until Ripley is moaning against Call’s lips and pulsing around her fingers.

Call slows as Ripley goes limp. She lays her head against Ripley’s bare collarbone and wishes she had said something earlier, but her programming includes a realistic level of paralyzing fear and how the fuck does one get past that easily? “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Ripley runs her fingers through Call’s hair. “No more secrets, okay?”

Call nods. It’s freeing to feel unburdened. It feels expansive. “And you-”

“Yes,” Ripley says with a hint of playful annoyance. “That goes for me too.”

/

They enjoy a planet with a sun and a moon, brisk nights and cool days because Ripley doesn’t like the heat. Ripley turns toward Call in the night to pluck the book from her fingers, presses her back against the pillows with urgent hands and learns what makes Call gasp all over again.

They have what they need to stay put until it’s time to make their way off planet, to try to do some good. They’ve shaken the military. No monsters are chasing them, except the ones in Ripley’s nightmares when Call holds Ripley to her chest and assures her she’s safe until Ripley believes it. For now, it’s all they need. They are together and that’s more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is the flavor of protective, snarky, and co-dependent you were looking for. :)


End file.
